Gods, Guides, and Worlds Between

Well, this one is a quite eventful log. To cut to the end: this is being written from some place that is not shadow hell and about 40ft up a tree until I have determined my legal status in….wherever we are. Let’s just say I am wanted (dead preferably) in 26 kingdoms and not wanted in all the rest. Incident with being forced to make a castle disappear…but I do hear that Lake Tim is beautiful this time of year.

So from the last time I’ve written, we’ve destroyed a throne, and encountered two hulking ogre looking zombie things (Technical term). Tim, halfway through the fight, reemerged into this plane with us, and we quickly dispatched said zombie things.

The magically inclined inform us of more necrotic pulses, and even the non-magically inclined, such as myself, know that there are pulses coming from somewhere. The sorcerer points and says “This way to the next necrotic beacon.” We go.

Oh dear, this will be a rather long entry…and quite probably a bit nonsensical to those who are not of…appropriate intellectual or arcane caliber to grasp the finer points of these recent beauteous events. Given that the origin of this diversion occurs in the same room where my last entry left off you may wonder at the code change, trust me it will make sense.

I am currently of the opinion that I have earned approximately 32 hours of continuous smugness from this escapade.

The escape from the dragon wasn’t quite what I had hoped; instead of conning the dragon or simply making a run for it the idiot Bard managed to get us to agree to go further out and try and free it. Not going to happen, no way am I releasing that dragon. His directions toward one of the, apparently, many nexi of necrotic energy that sustain this plane and its machinations were helpful in fulfilling my ultimate goal. We are not destroying that nexus, I require it for my experiments.

From this day forth, Journal, I swear I will do whatever it takes to eliminate the Lyrican Order. They have been allowed to corrupt all that is good with this world. I will no longer stand by and watch. There will be death, on the just and unjust alike, but it will work for the good of all, of this I am sure. I hope you are ready for some bloodstained pages…

I’ve woken up in the throne room. I’m covered in sweat…My companions are still asleep…Seems as if I’ve had a nightmare.

I was the same age as I am now, or roughly therebouts. I’m walking through my home town, Ulmo, when it was attacked by the Lyrican Order again. I saw Rionell, Lucian, Holic, all of my current companions, and Pontiff Bricer was there. I should say Ioun, as he was floating, blowing away all the buildings. Numonir was there, and he cut off the heads of my parents. I was powerless to stop the onslaught, and I wept. I screamed in agony. Ioun/Bricer then heard my scream and came towards me. She said to me that I had escaped her original spell and that now came the time for me to lose myself. She started chanting some incantation. I simply looked at her, tears still streaming down my face.

I woke up…crying, sweating, not knowing that I was crying because I was sweating so profusely…

Once again, I’m writing. Seems like its been forever. I hope I can do justice to the story it seems my companions and I are in. Sigh…

We spent the evening in the “treasure” room behind the Dragon’s Lair. We wake up and Haissem informs us that we should look for a way out without having to go back past the dragon. Our sorcerer, Tim, seems to have disappeared by this time, and I assume he has gone up to see the dragon. While the majority of the party is searching the area for a way out, Lilith, our resident musician, runs down the dragon hallway yelling at the top of her voice…

Allow me to revise some of my previous assumptions: 1)this is not a Hell, but some demiplane proximal to the Shadowfell; 2)I am becoming more convinced that some form of temporal anomaly has taken back in time as well as planar shift; 3)This is in fact not a prison for political prisoners but absolutely morons. These retrograde simpletons revere their bards above their scholars!! That alone proves that the inhabitants of this plane are unforgivably stupid.

Well this certainly has been an interesting turn of events. It seems the rouge Shaes has died. Or at least that what I'm hoping for. The last thing I remember was Ioun preparing a spell. Since retreat wasn't an option, I went for the attack! Instanly I fey stepped towards my foe – as I can only hope to harm the mortal coil she found her self bound to. Yet as I summoned the magicks within myself and invoke the magic something straged happened. I felt my body been to be ripped and torn (something my teleports don't usually do to ME). Slowly my aids faded from view. As if if they were in a slow downard spiril to some unknown oblivion. I can only assume they are all dead. Perhaps they experienced the same fate as I. Feeling every part of you body being torn apart piece by piece. I dare say if it wasn't for the energies I had summoned for my teleportation I would not have had the strength of will to pull myself back together again. How did I do this, I don't know. Where I appeared next was perhaps the most insane part. Where am I? And why am I naked?

Egh! So glad my mentor saw fit to give me this self-scribing journal, it would be a real pain to make proper updates in situations like this otherwise. It seems I have gotten myself into a bit of problem, again. I am currently being force-marched back to what may only be described as a “town” in the loosest sense of the word by hostile inhabitants. Ah, getting ahead of myself again; the mentor wants a solid account of my adventures and studies for reference in his Librarium and I must do better than that. Now, to relating how I got here.